


Monochrome

by nahul



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Ashes Scene in Avengers: Infinity War Part 1, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Character Death, I'm still sad at iw, Infinity War Spoilers ofc, M/M, Steve Needs a Hug, stevebucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-13 01:31:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14739548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nahul/pseuds/nahul
Summary: monochrome [adj.](of a photograph or picture, or a television screen)consisting of or displaying images in black and white or in varying tones of only one colour.





	Monochrome

**Author's Note:**

> ok this is one of them soulmate aus where it's like,,, when your soulmate dies you stop seeing in colour jskduhjysgyf let's GO

Truth be told, Steve had forgotten what the world looked like when all its crevices weren’t painted in the shadows of blues and browns and the variations of shades that were so vast in number he couldn’t think where to even begin. He’d long forgotten how plain the world was when it was just a canvas of white with the dullness of greys contrasting against a white background that was so stark and plain. 

He’d forgotten the melancholic tons of monotony that blotted out the colours that had been so firmly printed onto his mind. Pale greys replacing the dulcet shine of a sun’s golden stain upon a river as it crawled up the skyscape, ready for the day ahead. He’d almost forgotten that aside from metallics and pastels and primary colours, aside from the explosive spectrum of colours that bled into every object living that there was another side to life. The side that sat in expensive blacks and pearlescent whites that beckoned to him now.

There were echoes of battle all around them, the remnants of gunshots ricocheting around his head, a bullet that rebounded off the walls of his skull. The oh-so clear sound of spears and swords and weaponry of the most refined metals clashing with one another, the scratching screech of lightning as it burst free from open clouds and the ringing of battlecries echoed all around him like a cloud of guilt hanging above him.

Blood. Gore. Bloodshed. Battle. War. Memories of the past merging with the present and sending his heart into something of a bird furiously flapping against the side of its cage. 

He looked around. Confusion rife in the air as he searched. Scanned the area. Bucky. He was alive. Evidently, because the colouring in his vision hadn’t yet yielded to the overpowering monotony that threatened to blur his peripheral vision. That was the first warning that something was wrong. Something was blaringly wrong. But Bucky stood still, uninjured - or as close to being uninjured as humanly possible. 

Yet there was an eeriness. It filled the atmosphere, squeezing at the relief flooding through his veins and instead fuelling his blood with a putrid substance that was heavy and restrictive, some forewarning sense flooding him with a tar-like substance as dark as sleepless nights. Stifling his hope and muffling any chance of reconciling with that hope.

He met Bucky’s eyes. Blue depths that rippled with the same confusion that ripped through his own being as he observed what remained after the… explosion. Debris fluttered before him, grazing his sight with unclearness and a certain extent of blurriness that sent the unravelled feeling flooding him again, still reeling from the battle. 

And that.

That was when it happened.

When he met Bucky’s eyes, and he could feel something. Something snap within him, or perhaps it was the atmosphere that had snapped, suddenly taking a hold of the air and choking it of any remnant of optimism that had floated around his mind - somehow having had avoided the bullets of shock that battered his brain relentlessly. Optimism fled him, leaving him staring at the man in front of him, though he felt as though his heart was made of lead.

And that.

That was when it happened. 

Flakes. Flakes of something, something brown and ashen and scentless that was beginning to take ahold of Bucky’s arms, spreading like a disease across his body, and something of recognition seemed to flicker in his eyes for a mere second - a flicker of colour that flashed before Steve’s world began to glitch. A soul glitch, like he was a computer with a faulty screen that refused to show any full colour. 

A shift. Multicolour to a world of monotony to a world of technicolour. All the while he watched, a boy whose form was beginning to crumble, to lose his footing as he opened up his mouth, ashen face speaking volumes for both of them as he began to speak-

“Steve…”

-and then, he fell. 

Or rather, he was taken away. A phantom drift that carried away a burnt soul, brandished with a thousand years’ worth of scars that littered his soul. And along with it came the dimming, the fading of colours, the fading of  _ him. _ A weight, some fairy-dust smattering of optimism that had dusted his heavy limbs seemed to flee from his body, joining with the dust that was overtaking Bucky. Bucky.  _ His _ Bucky was disappearing, again.

And he reached his hand out to grasp him. A flash of colour, a flash of the past flickering before his eyes along with it as he recalled the time before when he’d slipped through his grasp just like this one.

But before his hands could slip into the soft palm of Bucky’s own hand, it disintegrated. Leaving only trails of ashes behind, everything he was reduced to nothing but ashes that drifted into Steve’s hands.

And alas, the monochromal tones that had been threatening Steve all day finally crept in and set up residence once more. Along with a leaden soul and a heart made of smouldering ashes. 

There was silence.


End file.
